Lacarnum Inflamarae
by Dena Gray
Summary: She set him on fire as a First Year; how high will the flames grow now that she's all grown up? A winding, contemplative tale of D/s for those of us with less-defined roles. EWE, HGSS, A/U, Rated M. Seriously, Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

Lacarnum Inflamarae

A note from the author: This was inspired by a prompt from the wonderful Tyche Song, for an "any pair, any ship" BDSM fest about a year ago. Of course, my favorite pairing is HGSS, so that was a no-brainer, but the BDSM was a bit tough for me, to write both interestingly and responsibly...thus the delay.

I think the biggest reason people choose BDSM lifestyles is to learn balance, acceptance, tolerance and patience. To that end, I have written something a bit apart from some of the lovely fics written about our favorite couple that talk about Domination and submission. This is more about those of us who are thrust into the role of a top—or a bottom—without the necessary personality or tools to handle it. Sometimes, when we are forced into roles so opposite our personalities, we need a little of the opposite extreme to balance that out.

Another note: I have a bit in the story on goose paté. Please understand that the views I'm writing are simply how I would see these characters express them, not necessarily how I feel about it. I know that this is a sensitive subject in both directions, so please remain calm. I am writing fanfiction, here, after all.

So without further ado, I present the first chapter of Lacarnum Inflamarae, titled "Lorem Ipsum"

_**Lorem Ipsum - 1914 translation by H. Rackham**_

_"But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?"_

_**My interpretation that inspired this story – 2013**_

_A man will not seek out pleasure until he has been exposed to it—that if he doesn't know what it is, he will continuously seek out pain. Once he understands that with a bit of pain, he may obtain pleasure, he will continue to work hard to do so, but once it is revealed to him that he may pursue pleasure for its own benefit, he will do so wholeheartedly._

Of a late spring evening at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the current Headmaster was sat somewhat comfortably in a brown, tufted leather settee, trying to read. After a few quiet moments, and with a disgusted snort, he tossed down the newest installment of a rather popular serial novel. Not for the subject matter or even the quality of work—it was actually rather decent and would normally keep his attention—but he felt...just...antsy.

Nothing was satisfying, anymore. Nothing held the same flavor of life. It felt as if most of his life's zeal had bled out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack almost two years ago, and the rest had been slowly hemorrhaging ever since.

Well, the first few months back after recuperation and reinstatement had been rather entertaining, watching Minerva, Filius and Pomona fawn all over their apologies, but that wasn't nearly enough to keep him through the past few months.

Running the school was a relentless task, something that, intellectually, he enjoyed, but as the furor of the war died, as the school reclaimed its pomp and regalia, his enjoyment in living the life of Hogwarts' Headmaster just...fizzled.

There was no great evil to hold at bay. There was no greater power to foil. Even the Prophet heralded him as the most powerful wizard alive, but when he looked in the mirror every morning, he certainly didn't feel like it.

No, Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts, was finally becoming bored.

He couldn't think of any other position in the British wizarding world more important than the administration and protection of the foremost magical education facility in Britain, and he really liked his job, most days. He liked the tedium, the normality, even the bureaucracy...but somehow...within the past few months, it had begun to feel..._not enough_.

Something was missing, and to hear Poppy talk, he just needed a companion. Offering herself in that position required no small amount of diplomacy on his part to convince her otherwise and keep her as school matron. Honestly, what need had he of a companion? He had friends, he had acquaintances, what the hell difference did it make, when he'd gone this much in life without one?

He sighed disconsolately, setting his elbow on the arm of the sofa to rest his head in his hand. Maybe he just needed a break. Maybe—maybe he just needed to suck it up, but damn it if he wasn't getting tired of being the one always tasked with making the self-sacrificing choices in life.

Pulling off his silver-framed readers, he tossed them onto the occasional table beside him, warily watching the glass candle globe tilt and wobble slightly when his elbow jarred against the wood. Just as he settled back and calipered his temples with one hand, a soft hissing and crackling noise along with a flash of green caught his attention and indicated a floo-caller.

Hmm. Not that he really wanted to entertain in this mood, but really, it could only be Lucius. He flicked his wand to open the floo and waited for the head governor to show his face. Who else would be coming to the school via the Headmaster's private quarters at seven in the evening?

Ah. Who indeed?

He pushed that pat acknowledgment to the back of his brain and greeted his long-time friend with an outstretched hand. Lucius took it with a cough and a smile, spelling his now-impeccable midnight blue robes clean.

"Headmaster."

"Governor."

They stared at each other with silent amusement for a few moments before Lucius finally broke, "Great Merlin, Severus, have you gone completely unkempt?"

When all he got in response was a vaguely affronted glare, he elaborated, "Your hair hasn't been that long since you were attending these classes yourself...And that _beard_! Channeling Hagrid, are we?"

Severus did not deign that with a reply, and instead asked, "What can I do for you, Lucius? I can't think you came here to chastise my tonsorial choices."

"No, I haven't. Narcissa was complaining we were out of that lovely faun brandy and since my next shipment from France won't be ready until Thursday, I was wondering if you could spare a bottle?"

That reason smacked of insincerity, but who was he to call Lucius on it? His old friend knew damned well he didn't drink, and yet had presented him with a case of brandy for his birthday a few months back. "Yes, of course." It had stung, a bit, to have such a long time acquaintance give such an insensitive gift, but that was Lucius.

Well, it _was_ Lucius, at any rate. He'd been showing signs of being a bit more considerate of late, but that could just be an upswing in his overall profits. One never quite knew for sure with Lucius.

Severus stepped aside to his liquor cabinet and spelled it to open, pulling the entire case out to hand back to the school governor.

He didn't miss the slightly hurt expression on the blond's face, but deftly ignored it. "Here, take as many as you like."

"Severus."

Lucius' tone was chastising and Severus really didn't want to hear it. "What," he responded with flat aggravation.

"Why don't you have any out? I thought it would be a nice accompaniment should you need to wrangle Ministry officials to do your bidding. Or to calm upset parents. Circe knows, you've upset many this past year alone."

Severus stopped short, looking at the gift in this new light. Put that way, it wasn't so damned insensitive. It was damned convenient. Why hadn't he thought of it that way? Ah, bugger and fuck it. Lucius could take the lot now, it'd be no skin off his nose. The school year was nearly over, anyway.

He looked to his old friend and sighed, tipping up a shoulder in nonchalance. "That's what I've got you for, to smooth ruffled feathers. I'm sure many a mama would rather have you visit them than be handed a dose of questionable liquid fortification by their former Potions Master."

Lucius leveled a steady and questioning gaze back at Severus, and it was a moment before he replied, "Perhaps...then again, I can see you haven't even tried."

There was something about the way he said it that set Severus' teeth on edge. It sounded entirely too much like the matchmaking wheedling of his female staff and he really, really did not need to be reminded of that. It was bad enough to have such drivel cast at him from his faculty, much worse for it to be bandied about in what was supposed to be friendly conversation.

And truth be told, he didn't need the likes of Lucius Malfoy chastising him on his managerial behavior, nor on his personal grooming. Who was he to judge? What the hell did Lucius know of what he'd tried and not tried? "Take your damned brandy and hie off to someone who cares. I don't have time for your incessant _badgering_."

Lucius stared him down with an unnervingly Dumbledorean twinkle, tucking his chin with a dubious expression meant to pry.

Severus was just shy of telling Lucius just where he could go, when his friend relented.

"Severus, Narcissa and I are worried about you—"

He puffed an air of irritation out and shoved the case of brandy into the blond's hands. "Stop, before you hurt yourself. I've never needed mollycoddling, and I'm not about to start. So, forbearing repetition, take your devil's brew back to your wife and leave me be."

"Severus—"

The Headmaster cut his irritating and nosy friend off with a warning glare. Lucius sighed resignedly through his perfectly-shapen nostrils and flooed away.

With a vicious jab, Severus sent a spell to block the floo and cursed, loudly.

He cursed his nosy friend for thinking he could just come over and throw his worries on him; he cursed his meddling staff for thinking they could tell him what to do with his life; and he cursed himself for not knowing why he even considered listening to them in the first place.

Everything was fine. He just needed to set his mind straight and get over it.

_It was Fine._

The rest of his night was spent in a restless, unproductive fuss about his chambers. He didn't even have a decent potion puzzle to tinker with. Catching sight of himself in a mirror, he cringed.

Lucius was right about one thing. His beard was starting to look like Hagrid's.

A/N: You know what I want ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Narcissa watched her husband of so many years pace grooves in the Kazak rug that sprawled in geometric brilliance across the parlor floor. Thank Circe she'd had the protection charms renewed or he'd quickly wear a hole in the centuries old carpet. She released the magic running her tatting for baby Scorpio's presentation gown with a cluck of her tongue and turned to Lucius in annoyance. "You should leave him be, dearest. I'm sure he just wants the opportunity to clear his mind."

He barely glanced at her before turning and pacing back to the fireplace. Looking over his shoulder, he responded distractedly, "Darling, I simply can't. We were brethren for too many years for me to forget him like this."

Why was Lucius so upset? Their friend just wanted a respite from society. She could certainly understand that with all the hectic responsibilities of war behind them and those of the school before him. Why couldn't her husband see that? She pinched the bridge of her nose and pointed out, again, "You're not forgetting him, you're letting him live his life the way he wants to. That's apparently without the amenities we're so fond of."

Her beautifully blond husband shook his head in frustration, "Yes, but it _feels_ like forgetting. He doesn't come round for tea unless we absolutely force him, when he used to voluntarily drop by nearly weekly. Remember back when Draco was a young lad? He was almost a fixture, here."

"That was almost twenty years ago, my love. He was required to do so, then—things have changed. And that's putting it lightly."

"I just can't see him wanting to cloister himself off like this."

"That's not your concern, it's his."

Lucius shook his head again and stopped to stare at his wife, wanting to make his point plain, "You didn't see his chambers, Cissy. They're barren."

She blinked curiously at his expression of disgust, "There are entire cultures of living based on a minimalist lifestyle. It's not wrong."

He gestured helplessly and struck a thoughtful, confused pose facing the fireplace, "He didn't use any of the bottles of brandy we gifted him for his birthday. The case had been untouched. He hasn't even used it in the office, like I told him to."

And he had that choice to do with their gift as he pleased, which is why they gave the case to him in the first place. They were his to enjoy as he saw fit, whether it was within a few months, a few years or even to give them all away as gifts. She still didn't see why her husband was so...upset. She prompted him with a suggestion, "There are worse things than having not used an entire case of faun-made brandy in five months."

His light, hectic gaze snapped back to her, "I saw no sign of his intention to use it at all, and to look at him, I'd question if he's ever actually partaken in any of the extras we've sent him since the Ministry reopened our vaults last year."

Her husband moved closer and dropped to his knees before her in urgent need to make her believe him, "You should see him, darling. He's almost emaciated...unkempt. He looks worse than he did when he was Headmaster before, during the Dark Lord's reign."

Her husband may have finally won his point on their friend's dire need, but she still wasn't entirely sure. Severus had always been stoic, withdrawn. Especially after Lily's death and that whole affair with Voldemort. She could easily understand why he'd want to close himself off like this and if not for Lucius, she would probably have done the same after the Dark Lord's passing. Lucius was a lovely man at heart, but sometimes his interpersonal skills were lacking. She raised an eyebrow to her husband and chided him, "He's selectively sequestered himself off away inside that school and away from any visitors. When the man seems to want nothing to do with society, you try to pry him out of it by condemning his _sobriety_?"

"That's hundred year old brandy you're talking about."

"I know that, Lucius, but try to be a little more sensitive, please." That was, after all, one of the many exercises in restraint they'd been given.

Lucius stood, removing himself to the center of the room again, clearly not pleased with being chastised for his caring behavior. He sullenly struck out, challenging Narcissa, "Well, if I'm so wrong, why don't you try to coax him? Hmm?"

Her face contorted into something very unladylike, somewhere between a scoff and a smug sneer, "I'm sure I could do better than what you've done." And why her husband hadn't thought of Hermione, she couldn't fathom. It sounded like just the thing Severus needed.

Lucius reared back his head and flipped his hair back from his face. "Is that so? Well, then, why don't you?"

There was a pause between them and Narcissa realized that Lucius really was very concerned for their friend, and if he was this concerned, she should take this seriously and try to help him. It would be up to her to outmaneuver the Head Slytherin, and prove to her husband that his brand of manipulation was a bit too Gryffindor to work.

She thought about what it would take to get Severus and Hermione 'reintroduced', so to speak, and after a few moments contemplating the angles, thought she'd come across just the thing. She smirked in slow triumph. It occurred to her that Lucius was whinging to her as an appeal for help and at this point, she could seize advantage of the situation. If she could pull this off, there would be no more room for competition between them as to who was the best Slytherin in the house.

With that in mind, she tilted her head and asked of her husband, "Will you promise to let me handle it? Not to push or wrangle your way into it and do everything I ask of you to fullfill this goal without complaint?"

He inhaled sharply, and slowly nodded his head once. It was a mark of how truly concerned he was that he gave his concession so quickly. However, before she could smirk again and fly off to make plans, he had a concession of his own to request, "Only if you tell me what exactly it is you're thinking of doing, my sweet."

She blinked at him, feigning innocence, and he moved behind her to rest his elegant hands on her neat shoulders. Leaning down, he purred in her ear, "I love it when you take charge, you know that."

She smiled at her love, truly happy, and leaned into his head with her own. He was so lovely now that he was back to being a charmer, now that Hermione had helped them out of the drowning vacuum left after Riddle's absence. Narcissa rubbed her cheek against the fine, silken heft of her husband's hair and purred back, "Don't you think, all he needs is a little...direction?"

They broke slightly apart to raise eyebrows at each other, she in arrogance, he in surprise.

She took the moment to maximum effect by stating baldly, "I plan to introduce him to our Hermione."

Lucius chuckled and bussed his wife on her very smooth cheek. "Oh, Cissa, come on. While her brand of care would certainly benefit him, he's practically a Capuchin."

She reared back, wary. "Don't tell me he's grown a beard. He has such a lovely jawline."

There was his devilish chuckle again. "Oh, absolutely, you should see it! Regardless, just how in Hades would you even attempt to get Severus Snape into the same room as she?"

He thought he had her, but she was merely gathering information.

With a mysterious smile, she reached for the tatting needles, straightening a mislaid loop before responding lightly, "Oh...I have my ways..."

Lucius smiled in secret triumph behind his wife as he caressed her shoulders.

* * *

><p>AN: Hmm! Something tells me Lucius is up to something! What do you think?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Hermione was a reliable witch, organized and efficient and generally the one to whom people gravitated when they had a problem to fix, and that is exactly what landed her in the middle of a paper-strewn desk in a partially-hidden broom closet on the administrative level of the Ministry of Magic working as the chief and sole liaison for the Cultural Collaboration Initiative. With a snort, she stacked another scroll atop the ever-growing pile atop her desk and reminded herself that at least she had a charmed window. What was left of a strained and put-upon positive attitude clouded over when her door opened outwardly to admit the Minister of Magic, himself.

Kingsley nodded and greeted her with pleasant familiarity, glancing about the full room for a place to stand.

There wasn't any.

Hermione sighed inwardly, careful not to show her frustration to the most politically powerful wizard in Britain. If he didn't insist on her being so damned close to him, in an area of the ministry that was so completely stretched to magical bounds without the addition of such a small room, then he might have had a place to sit. She might have even had something like room for a tea table, or even room for a small kettle, but honestly, there was barely enough room for elbows in this place.

She looked at the corners of the room and wondered if they inched in on her when she wasn't looking.

The Minister cleared his throat and looked at her as she sat behind a waterfall of scrolls, all notations on her biggest Ministry-appointed project: A collection of interviews of the Muggleborn and Pureblood populace along with their perceptions on reforming Wizarding Britain after its Voldemortian post-war reparation.

That was the working title, at least.

His deep, melodious voice was too large for the room, but Hermione bore it with a smile, "Have you finished the outline of the interviews you've performed so far? I need Marietta to review them before she writes my speech for tomorrow's conference."

She could feel the blood leech from her face as his words registered with her. "What?" His expression never faltered, so she assumed he was serious. "No. You didn't tell me you needed that _today_." She reached over and started rolling up one of fifteen scrolls laid across her desk to hide the fact that she'd written several drafts of the outline already. Kingsley wouldn't understand that even the latest version needed heavy editing in order to be presentable. Clutching several scrolls to her chest, she gave him a slightly panicked look, which wasn't far from what she was feeling, "Everything I have is still in notation. I need time to put it together and I still have my last interview tonight."

At least, she hoped it would be her last interview. Not that she'd not liked the assignment, or the clients...or the satisfaction from the resultant further obligations that came about...but a girl can only slip so much under the radar with the Ministry and there were only so many hours in the day.

Wincing at her weak-worded argument, Hermione shored up her defense by reminding herself that working fifteen hours a day and most every weekend was worth the results of her little side-project. Even if it wasn't so very little. Kingsley wouldn't and didn't have to know that she really 'worked' with the Cultural Collaboration Initiative's purpose in mind with much farther reaching efforts than originally intended. What he didn't know, couldn't hurt him, and the way he quoted exit polls and public favor statistics definitely meant she needed to keep from giving him anything he didn't want to hear.

He tilted his head down to give her a look that said he wasn't buying her delay tactic. "Time is one thing we do not have, Miss Granger. The polls are reporting disfavor with the progress I've apparently not made with advancing muggleborn-pureblood interrelations and I've got to hit them hard at the international summit. I brought you in for this one purpose, Hermione. Please. I need your commitment—that Gryffindor determination you're so famous for." He finished with a politically charming smile that made her feel slightly ill, but shored up her resolve to stand her ground.

She took a deep breath and smiled back, "Minister—Kingsley...Thank you, but I am only one witch. If I could have a team, even just one more person—"

He interrupted her and turned on the charm,"But who? There is no one I can trust more to complete this task than you. You're the only one even qualified to work with this task and I need your golden fame in my corner. If I bring in more people, the public will only view that as our incapability. No. I'm sorry, but you must simply work harder."

Her mouth dropped open in shock and she dropped the scrolls to the desk again, "Kingsley!"

"We've already discussed the terms," he said with a meaningful look at her wand, sitting meekly beside her hand on the papered desk. "You know how important this collaboration is to all of us."

She really did not want the reminder that she'd been forced into this position or have her wand snapped. Because she did not want that reminder, nor the reminder of the pleasant work she'd left behind, her response was less than respectful. "You haven't left me with any choice in the matter, sir. I don't have the option of not making this work, but I'm already working to capacity." She blinked at him when he seemed to not comprehend and spread her fingers across the desk to indicate the fifteen thick scrolls in front of her. "This is what I have, but I can't work any faster _and_ complete the interviews as you've assigned them to me."

He stared long at her, obviously wanting her to say something further, but when she didn't offer anything else, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I need more from you. Have it on my desk by tomorrow morning. That's as much time as I can give you."

She felt the tell-tale prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes but swallowed them down as the minister swept out the door in his peacock blue robes. How on earth was she going to finish this up before her final meeting with the Malfoys tonight? Her current mindset was nowhere near where it needed to be and the slightest falter would ruin all her efforts.

Taking a deep breath, she centered herself, leading herself through the emotional control methods she used on her...clients. It was a very little known and particular secret that Hermione's interviews with the pureblood populace had turned up an interesting vacuum in power that she'd taken it upon herself to help...solve. Nothing illegal, mind, nor was it illicit. More...of a public service.

Besides, who else was there to pick up the floundering morass of wizards and witches who'd been relying on either Dumbledore or Voldemort for direction in their lives? Kingsley wasn't interested in teaching the populace about standing on their own and finding their own control methods, and Harry wasn't going to do it; he was one of the ones that needed help. Anyone else in the ministry even minded towards this goal would be a sadistic tyrant, ie: Umbrage.

Really, there wasn't anyone else qualified to do what she did.

There. She took another deep breath and felt herself calm, pulling out the parchment from the bottom of the scroll stack that had her third draft of Kingsley's outline. It needed severe fleshing out, but there was only so much time to work on it. If she sent it off now, Marietta's whining would have Kingsley kick her out of magical Britain for sure.

She checked the time with a quick Tempus charm and noted that she had about an hour and a half before she needed to be at the Malfoys. Rummaging through her top drawer, she found her Ever-Inking Quill and started to work.

An hour later, she had a fairly well fleshed out piece and sat back to read it over.

Maybe if she just fixed this part...There! She tapped her wand to the parchment to pull out all of the ink blots and crossed out sections, seal it, and ready it for delivery tomorrow morning.

It would just have to do. The Malfoys were waiting.

A/N: Hmm! Tell me what you think!


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